1) Guy Goma. Due to an almost amusing misunderstanding, a man who was simply turning up for a job interview accidentally got picked up at reception, made up, and thrown in front of a camera to participate on the BBC news. Clicky link: http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/entertainment/4774429.stm
It's good.
2) Morning Glory. Very wrong. Very funny. If you are easily offended, do not clicky. http://www.mgcomics.net/
3) Themanwhofellasleep. Amusing. Clicky on Sad Jokes. http://www.themanwhofellasleep.com/
24 May 2006
23 May 2006
18 May 2006
Sabbatical, headaches and facial recognition.
First things first - I'm leaving the blog for a while. I received some feedback from someone recently who claimed that I seemed to be "bitter". Although I don't necessarily agree with that, I did re-read some of my posts and have realised that, well, I ain't as funny as I used to be.
This blog was always meant to represent a kind of heightened reality, sort of like Larry David in Curb Your Enthusiasm, where I could breathe life into a alternate version of myself and exaggerate certain elements of my life. Unfortunately, that hasn't happened lately. Instead, I've been maudlin and unamusing. It's been like watching a car crash as I've slowly spiralled into 'breakdown'. Nobody wants to see that, least of all me. So, I'm going on sabbatical. I may be back, I may not. We'll see.
In the meantime, I'll leave you in the capable hands of Benny C. Yeah, he isn't as funny as me, but he's just a youngster. One day he may cease to be my Padawan learner and become a Master.
I've been off work for the last few days with a sore throat, aching muscles, a blocked up nose, and a headache that has been constant for approximately 72 hours. I may kill something soon. So, apologies for not being amusing or entertaining.
Before I go, one last thing. Check this out: http://www.myheritage.com/FP/Company/face_recognition.php?s=1&u=g0&lang=EN&restore&category=1
You have to sign up with your e-mail address, but it's all kosher.
Upload a photograph of yourself and the website conducts a comparison with over 3,200 well known people, then gives you a list of those that you most closely resemble.
I uploaded two photos and found that I was a combination of the following:
Sean Penn - 67%
WB Yeats - 58%
Sting - 50%
Jude Law - 50%
Emilio Estevez - 48%
Charles Manson - 48%
Groucho Mark - 47%
So, if asked on an Internet chatroom, I shall claim that I'm a cross between Jude Law and Sean Penn, with a soupcon of Charlie Manson thrown in. If that doesn't get them interested, nothing will.
Bye.
This blog was always meant to represent a kind of heightened reality, sort of like Larry David in Curb Your Enthusiasm, where I could breathe life into a alternate version of myself and exaggerate certain elements of my life. Unfortunately, that hasn't happened lately. Instead, I've been maudlin and unamusing. It's been like watching a car crash as I've slowly spiralled into 'breakdown'. Nobody wants to see that, least of all me. So, I'm going on sabbatical. I may be back, I may not. We'll see.
In the meantime, I'll leave you in the capable hands of Benny C. Yeah, he isn't as funny as me, but he's just a youngster. One day he may cease to be my Padawan learner and become a Master.
I've been off work for the last few days with a sore throat, aching muscles, a blocked up nose, and a headache that has been constant for approximately 72 hours. I may kill something soon. So, apologies for not being amusing or entertaining.
Before I go, one last thing. Check this out: http://www.myheritage.com/FP/Company/face_recognition.php?s=1&u=g0&lang=EN&restore&category=1
You have to sign up with your e-mail address, but it's all kosher.
Upload a photograph of yourself and the website conducts a comparison with over 3,200 well known people, then gives you a list of those that you most closely resemble.
I uploaded two photos and found that I was a combination of the following:
Sean Penn - 67%
WB Yeats - 58%
Sting - 50%
Jude Law - 50%
Emilio Estevez - 48%
Charles Manson - 48%
Groucho Mark - 47%
So, if asked on an Internet chatroom, I shall claim that I'm a cross between Jude Law and Sean Penn, with a soupcon of Charlie Manson thrown in. If that doesn't get them interested, nothing will.
Bye.
10 May 2006
DrunkSense
Regular readers (both of you) may remember that I wrote a post a while back on the excellent product Pawsense. Linkage here: http://blogeternaldisappointment.blogspot.com/2004/12/microwaves-and-cats.html
Re-reading some of my recent posts, some of which were melancholically tapped out whilst I was 'much disguised in drink', I have decided to invent something called 'DrunkSense'.
Drunksense (tm) is a piece of software which you can run on your PC as a background application and if at any point you arrive home as pissed as a lemur and decide that you want to share your pain with the world, it will detect the agonisingly slow key depressions, whilst conducting an internal log of how many times you press the backspace key to delete your repeated spelling mistakes, and lock you out.
If you attempt to resume your drunken ramblings, the PC will play 'I Can't Live (If Living Is Without You)' until you're reduced to pitiful, sobbing tears, whereupon you shambolically stumble off to bed and collapse, fully clothed, into the covers. It's a kind of audial Mace.
Thus, when you awake the following morning, you don't have to gingerly log in to your blog to a) witness the self-pitying torrent of spleen you have vented on to the World Wide Internet and b) cringe when you realise how many people have already read it and are dolefully shaking their heads and wondering how long it'll be before you finally cave in and deliberately drown yourself in a sinkful of dirty dishes.
I think it's a winner.
Re-reading some of my recent posts, some of which were melancholically tapped out whilst I was 'much disguised in drink', I have decided to invent something called 'DrunkSense'.
Drunksense (tm) is a piece of software which you can run on your PC as a background application and if at any point you arrive home as pissed as a lemur and decide that you want to share your pain with the world, it will detect the agonisingly slow key depressions, whilst conducting an internal log of how many times you press the backspace key to delete your repeated spelling mistakes, and lock you out.
If you attempt to resume your drunken ramblings, the PC will play 'I Can't Live (If Living Is Without You)' until you're reduced to pitiful, sobbing tears, whereupon you shambolically stumble off to bed and collapse, fully clothed, into the covers. It's a kind of audial Mace.
Thus, when you awake the following morning, you don't have to gingerly log in to your blog to a) witness the self-pitying torrent of spleen you have vented on to the World Wide Internet and b) cringe when you realise how many people have already read it and are dolefully shaking their heads and wondering how long it'll be before you finally cave in and deliberately drown yourself in a sinkful of dirty dishes.
I think it's a winner.
8 May 2006
TEPS, sunscreen, achievement, and the future.
I have just participated and, thank the Lord, been succesful in a game of TEPS (The Emergency Poo Sprint).
For those of you unfamiliar with TEPS, this involves an evening of drinking and eating, culminating in a sudden and rather frightening need to immediately excrete.
The need hit me about five minutes ago as I wended my drunken way home after an evening out with my father. Thank Christ, I made it in time. Racing in through the front door like an impatient penguin, I waddled upstairs (curse my first floor flat, despite its admirable view) and burst into the toilet before, well, bursting into the toilet.
I am now sitting, drinking water and enjoying the kind of buzz that is usually only experienced by potheads who have just smoked a twelve-inch skunk roll-up marijuana pipe.
Is this a male only phenomenon or do women experience TEPS too? Feedback please. I like to think I'm closing the sex gap.
So, I listened to Baz Lurhmans 'Everyones free to wear sunscreen' again yesterday. I love the song. If you don't like it, get out. Now. I mean it. Fuck off out of my blog you neanderthal.
It appeals to me on so many levels, not least of which is my own tendency to dispense sage advice to people regardless of my apparent inability to control a single event in my own life.
One of the lyrics in the song is "Don’t feel guilty if you don’t know what you want to do with your life. The most interesting people I know didn’t know at 22 what they wanted to do with their lives, some of the most interesting 40 year olds I know still don’t."
That lyric has been haunting me.
I don't know what I want to do with my life. I'm 33. Surely I should know by now?
Sadly, however, I don't.
Does that mean that I'm an interesting person?
Maybe it means that I'm far from interesting and have only succeeded in failing spectacularly.
I don't know.
I lack direction.
What does the future hold? Is that the question that should be occupying my time? Should I be concentrating on what destiny has in store? Should I be ignoring destiny and concentrating on my next masturbatory fantasy? Should I just go to sleep.
These are the questions which, ironically, keep me awake...
Answers on a postcard.
For those of you unfamiliar with TEPS, this involves an evening of drinking and eating, culminating in a sudden and rather frightening need to immediately excrete.
The need hit me about five minutes ago as I wended my drunken way home after an evening out with my father. Thank Christ, I made it in time. Racing in through the front door like an impatient penguin, I waddled upstairs (curse my first floor flat, despite its admirable view) and burst into the toilet before, well, bursting into the toilet.
I am now sitting, drinking water and enjoying the kind of buzz that is usually only experienced by potheads who have just smoked a twelve-inch skunk roll-up marijuana pipe.
Is this a male only phenomenon or do women experience TEPS too? Feedback please. I like to think I'm closing the sex gap.
So, I listened to Baz Lurhmans 'Everyones free to wear sunscreen' again yesterday. I love the song. If you don't like it, get out. Now. I mean it. Fuck off out of my blog you neanderthal.
It appeals to me on so many levels, not least of which is my own tendency to dispense sage advice to people regardless of my apparent inability to control a single event in my own life.
One of the lyrics in the song is "Don’t feel guilty if you don’t know what you want to do with your life. The most interesting people I know didn’t know at 22 what they wanted to do with their lives, some of the most interesting 40 year olds I know still don’t."
That lyric has been haunting me.
I don't know what I want to do with my life. I'm 33. Surely I should know by now?
Sadly, however, I don't.
Does that mean that I'm an interesting person?
Maybe it means that I'm far from interesting and have only succeeded in failing spectacularly.
I don't know.
I lack direction.
What does the future hold? Is that the question that should be occupying my time? Should I be concentrating on what destiny has in store? Should I be ignoring destiny and concentrating on my next masturbatory fantasy? Should I just go to sleep.
These are the questions which, ironically, keep me awake...
Answers on a postcard.
7 May 2006
Myspace, webpages, writing, and dog turds.
Just finished 'doing up' my Myspace profile thing. The legitimate thought process behind this is that if I throw myself into enough different bits of cyberspace, I'm bound to be recognised eventually. Of course, that may not work.
I also have my own website which I purchased through 123reg. This was a big mistake. 123reg is bastard-well difficult to use, and so far all I've managed to achieve is a holding page. If anyone can help me to set up a very, very basic website, then I'd be much obliged.
Rob Pratten is a film director. He optioned the Gentlemen's Club screenplay that I co-wrote. However, he isn't making it at the moment because he's committed to another project called Mindflesh. This was hugely disappointing. However, I then realised that it was probably a good thing. If Mindflesh is the critical success that London Voodoo was, then that may give him a little more power to be able to get the financing for GC. Check out Rob's website. www.zenfilms.com
As I typed this, with the sun peeking through the window and Aimee Mann playing in the background, I looked out into the garden with a beatific smile on my face only to see my neighbours dog squatting on the grass, back legs juddering like Michael J. Fox, curling a huge brown cable. I don't like dogs. And I don't like dog eggs.
I also have my own website which I purchased through 123reg. This was a big mistake. 123reg is bastard-well difficult to use, and so far all I've managed to achieve is a holding page. If anyone can help me to set up a very, very basic website, then I'd be much obliged.
Rob Pratten is a film director. He optioned the Gentlemen's Club screenplay that I co-wrote. However, he isn't making it at the moment because he's committed to another project called Mindflesh. This was hugely disappointing. However, I then realised that it was probably a good thing. If Mindflesh is the critical success that London Voodoo was, then that may give him a little more power to be able to get the financing for GC. Check out Rob's website. www.zenfilms.com
As I typed this, with the sun peeking through the window and Aimee Mann playing in the background, I looked out into the garden with a beatific smile on my face only to see my neighbours dog squatting on the grass, back legs juddering like Michael J. Fox, curling a huge brown cable. I don't like dogs. And I don't like dog eggs.
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